


Four Nights in L.A. [ARCHIVED]

by Rhiannon87



Series: Some Sort of Crazy [ARCHIVED] [2]
Category: Uncharted
Genre: Dating, F/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Nate's world, planning ahead is something that other people do, and Elena gets a surprise weekend with her favorite tomb robber. (Revised Jan. 7, 2014 to fix some canon/headcanon issues.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Nights in L.A. [ARCHIVED]

**Author's Note:**

> This is the original version of the fic. It has since been revised/rewritten. The new version can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6362950).

_Nathan Drake: r u in la?_

_Message received 07:31 p.m._

 

_Elena Fisher: Yes. Why?_

_Message sent 07:35 p.m._

 

_Nathan Drake: just landed at lax. address?_

_Message received 07:36 p.m._

 

_Elena Fisher: I'm at work, Nate._

_Message sent: 07:37 p.m._

 

_Nathan Drake: this late?_

_Message received: 07:37 p.m._

 

_Nathan Drake: where is work?_

_Message received: 07:40 p.m._

 

_Elena Fisher: At the studio._

_Message sent: 07:43 p.m._

 

_Nathan Drake: getting cab. meet you there?_

_Message received: 07:44 p.m._

 

_Nathan Drake: will buy you dinner. your choice._

_Message received: 07:46 p.m._

 

_Elena Fisher: Fine. Call me when you get here._

_Message sent: 07:50 p.m._

 

*

 

“Your lack of capitalization is troubling for a man of your age,” is the first thing out of Elena's mouth when she sees Nate lounging against the mailbox outside the studio.

He just grins. “Nice to see you, too,” he says and picks up his duffel bag.

Elena can't help her own smile in response. Nate's infectious like that. Or obnoxious. Same difference, really. She slows a bit as she gets closer, uncertain about the protocol here. They spent a few days running around the jungle courting death, then they spent the next three weeks in various hotels across Panama having quite a lot of really good sex. And then she came back to L.A. and he went back to Key West, and they promised to keep in touch.

She'd been more than a little surprised when the first e-mail showed up two days after they'd parted ways. He didn't seem like the type to follow through on that sort of thing. They'd been writing back and forth for the past month, random jokes or stories or complaints. They talked about her work more than his-- understandable, given the legal grey area Nate had made his home in.

None of that, however, gives Elena any idea as to how she's supposed to greet him.

Nate, fortunately, doesn't seem to have any hesitance. He slings an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in for a kiss on the cheek. “So! Where to?” he asks, his arm remaining in place as they walk towards the parking lot.

“AJ's,” she says. “It's a steakhouse about half a mile from here.”

He beams at her, the thought of steak apparently filling him with child-like glee, then he glances down at himself and frowns. “This okay?” he asks, gesturing at the jeans and dark blue t-shirt he's wearing. “I can always change in the backseat. Efficient and visually appealing.”

Elena rolls her eyes. “That won't be necessary.”

“But it'd be fun.” Nate's definition of fun is a rather strange one-- though she already knew that. She just shakes her head as she fishes her keys out of her purse. “Ooooh, did you buy a new car with your share?” he asks. “Is it a convertible? Please tell me it's a convertible.”

She snorts. “Let's see, between paying for the boat-- turns out pirates _aren't_ covered by insurance-- the camera, the travel expenses, and reimbursing myself for the lost pay...” She hits the button to unlock her car, the same green sedan she's had for the last three years. “No. No convertible.”

Nate at least has the decency to look chagrined as he walks around to the passenger seat. “Sorry about that.”

Elena waves a hand dismissively and tosses her purse in the backseat. “It wasn't _directly_ your fault.”

He throws his duffel in the back and doesn't quite crush her bag with it. “I assume your driving skills are somewhat better when actual roads are involved?”

“Hey! I'm not the one who drove us off a cliff.”

 

*

 

She's a little surprised at how easy things are between them, especially given that they've only known each other three months total. Then again, they did spend a few days together in a few jungles running from mercenaries and thugs and zombies. That does tend to make people closer.

They have plenty else to discuss on the drive and over dinner. There's a lot they don't know about each other-- she tells him about university and her work, and he teases that she's the only person he's met with an art history degree who's gainfully employed. (“Art history and communications double-major, actually,” she corrects, which doesn't really undercut his argument any.) They compare languages and find out that English and Spanish are the two they've got in common. Nate's also fluent in French, Latin, and Indonesian, for some reason, to Elena's German, Arabic, and Tibetan.

“Tibetan?” Nate asks, eyebrow raised, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Why?”

“Study abroad trip my junior year,” she replies. “You never know when it might be useful.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Nate tells her stories about past jobs and heists, and if she hadn't witnessed one herself she'd think he's exaggerating to make himself sound better. But, well, she did see him scale at least three fifty-foot walls, so there's not much room for doubt. She asks why he came to L.A., and he shrugs and says he wanted to see her. It's not a surprise. Elena hasn't known him long, but she still knows he's clinically incapable of planning ahead. He wanted to see her, so he hopped on a plane.

She's flattered, but it doesn't bode well for the long term.

They're lingering over drinks-- well, Nate's drink, anyway, since Elena's driving-- and Nate has been rubbing his foot against Elena's calf for the last few minutes. “Is this our first date?” he asks abruptly, as though the thought's just occurred to him.

“Uh... I guess so.”

He chuckles. “I guess we did things a bit out of order then.”

“The near-death experiences typically do come somewhat later,” she agrees.

Nate laughs and drains his glass. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, smirking, and yes, she really does.

 

*

 

_Nathan Drake: where is coffee?_

_Message received: 08:44_

_Nathan Drake: and where r u?_

_Message received: 08:45_

 

_Elena Fisher: Thanks._

_Message sent: 08:47_

 

_Nathan Drake: coffee smell but no coffee. torture._

_Message received: 08:48_

 

_Nathan Drake: did u make coffee?_

_Message received: 08:50_

 

_Nathan Drake: did u drink all the coffee?_

_Message received: 08:50_

 

_Elena Fisher: I admit nothing._

_Message sent: 08:52_

 

_Nathan Drake: U DRANK A POT OF COFFEE AND LEFT NONE 4 ME_

_Message received: 08:54_

 

_Elena Fisher: It brews one cup at a time._

_Message sent: 08:54_

 

_Nathan Drake: NONE. LEFT._

_Message received: 08:55_

 

_Elena Fisher: The fact that you know how to use capital letters but choose not to is just sad._

_Message sent: 08:56_

 

_Nathan Drake: coffee?_

_Message received: 08:57_

 

_Elena Fisher: Cabinet above the sink._

_Message sent: 08:58_

 

_Nathan Drake: coffeeeeeeeeeee_

_Message received: 09:04_

 

_*_

 

She picks up Thai food on the way home and tries not to think about how weird it is to have Nate in her apartment. He’d promised to find a way to entertain himself that didn’t involve breaking any laws. Keeping him busy would have been much easier if he hadn’t flown in on a Thursday night, but, well. Planning.

Nate's damp, shirtless, and a few shades darker than when she last saw him. “Hi honey, how was work?” he mock-simpers, and Elena throws the balled-up receipt at his head. He laughs and starts grabbing food.

“What'd you do with your day?” she eventually asks when they're seated side-by-side on her couch, her coffee table covered in open containers of rice and vegetables.

“Went to the beach. Made surfers cry.” He gestures at his abs with his chopsticks. “Got about a dozen numbers handed to and/or thrown at me.”

“So, an average day in the life of Nathan Drake?” Elena drawls and leans over to steal a piece of chicken from his plate.

He half-heartedly tries to steal it back. “More or less,” he says. Then, with a sideways glance in her direction, he adds, “I didn't keep any of the numbers.”

She's not quite sure what to say to that. She can't say that she doesn't care, because she does, even though she knows that getting possessive of a man like Nate is a very, very poor plan. But he told her for a reason.

Oh, this is going to be complicated.

“Mm.” She nods and takes a drink to avoid having to say anything else.

“Oh!” Nate sets his plate on the table and pulls a folded scrap of paper out of his back pocket. “Got you a present.”

Elena arches an eyebrow. “A present?”

“Well. Less a present and more paying off a debt.” He shrugs. “I did say I owed you another story.”

She sighs. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but my producer was _very_ clear about working with you again. Her exact words were 'hell no, we are--'”

“No, no, this wouldn't be with me,” Nate says quickly. “It's just a-- well, a number.” He grins, twirling the paper between finger and thumb. “You hear about the Coptic monastery ruins they found south of Alexandria?”

“Yeah, but it's all locked down, last I heard.” Elena glances at the paper.

“Well.” Nate drags the word out, clearly enjoying this. “I just happen to know the assistant to the lead archeologist, and I might have put in a good word for you to do a special episode on the site. Several good words, actually. So if you were to call in the next week...”

Elena's mentally already halfway through the pitch she's going to give to her producers. An exclusive archeological dig is perfect; exactly what she needs to get back in their good graces. And it's been ages since she's had the chance to go to Egypt. “Nate, thank you,” she says, reaching for the paper. He leans away and holds it out of her reach. She glares and grabs for it again; he leans back farther. “Nate,” she says in warning.

Nate just grins at her, eyes sparkling with mischief, and holds the paper out over the arm of the couch. “Say please.”

“I do not have to say please for a present,” she says and leans over him to grab the paper. It's exactly what he wants, and she knows it, but she doesn't really mind.

He stretches back farther, she over-balances and falls on top of him, and then the paper and the food are both forgotten for a while. Later, she tacks the phone number to the corkboard over her desk while Nate puts the leftovers away, and she tells herself to stop thinking of this as normal.

 

*

 

It’s raining when they wake up on Saturday, and that’s all the argument they need to stay in bed until eleven. Lunch is leftovers, and Nate pokes around her DVD collection until he finds her Indiana Jones trilogy and declares that they're having a marathon. They settle in on the couch, and Nate critiques the accuracy of the films and Indy's adventuring form; Elena throws popcorn at him when he starts talking through the best parts.

They go out for dinner after the movies. Nate gets a few texts while they're eating, and he smiles and lies when Elena asks what they're about. Nothing, he says, unable to meet her eyes, nothing important, and Elena just drops it. It's probably better if she doesn't know. Plausible deniability and all that.

“How long were you planning on staying?” Elena asks as they stroll out to her car.

Nate shrugs and glances down at her. “I dunno,” he says. “You kicking me out?”

“No.” She leans against him and wraps her arm around his. “Just wondering if I should call in sick on Monday.”

He laughs. “I'm such a bad influence on you.”

“You really are.”

Nate pulls his arm free as they reach her car. “Ask me tomorrow,” he says.

Elena never gets the chance. She wakes up entirely too early the following morning to the sound of Nate trying to stealthily pack his bag. “Were you at least gonna leave a note?” she asks with a surprising amount of venom for how sleepy she still feels.

Nate looks up, wide-eyed and startled. “No, I wasn't-- I mean, I was gonna wake you before I left,” he half-whispers. “Just wanted to let you sleep.”

When he lies, it's all over his face, and Elena's pretty sure he's not lying now. She sighs and climbs out of bed. “I'll drive you to the airport,” she says.

“I can call a cab--”

“Nate. It's fine.” She starts pulling clothes out of her dresser and glances over at him. “When does your flight leave?”

“I don't know. I'll have to see when the next flight to-- when the next flight is once I get there.”

Elena sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. “Go make coffee,” she says. “I'm gonna take a shower.”

Breakfast and the drive to the airport are largely silent, awkward affairs, mostly because Nate won't tell her where he's going or why or with who. It's not really any of her business, she supposes; it's not like she has any claim on him. Still, the evasiveness is annoying.

She pulls into the temporary parking at the terminal and puts the car in park. “Thanks,” Nate says. He glances at her and hesitates for a second, then leans in to give her a kiss.

Elena puts her hand to his cheek when he pulls back, holding him still so she can meet his eyes. “Be careful,” she says. “And call me when you can.”

Nate smiles. “I will.” Then he's gone, slipping out of the car and dashing off into the airport without a backwards wave. Elena stares after him for a moment, then shakes her head and puts the car in drive. Time to go home. She's got work to do.


End file.
